


that song only you can hear

by profdanglais



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Lieutenant Duckling, Non-Linear Narrative, Prince Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Princess Emma Swan, Prompt Fic, The Enchanted Forest (Once Upon a Time), and trying to escape it, emphasis on trying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29519163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profdanglais/pseuds/profdanglais
Summary: Neither Princess Emma nor Prince Killian wish to be trapped in a political marriage to someone they don't love. Especially now that they've known love with bandits they met while on the run from their arranged marriages.Prompted by Tumblr: "A princess runs away from an arranged marriage, befriends a gang of outlaws, falls in love with one of them, only to find out that he is the prince she was supposed to marry, who also ran away."
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 20
Kudos: 205





	that song only you can hear

-

The two men met in the middle of the council chamber with a matched pair of elegant bows and a solemn exchange of _Your Majesties_. Formalities thus observed and ceremonially dispatched, they broke into jovial smiles, gripping each other’s forearms and clapping one another on the back. They were far more similar than different, these men—roughly of a height and with the same breadth to their shoulders, the same twinkle of humour in their eyes and the lines on their faces fallen in the same warm places. One had far more of those lines, being a good brace of decades older—as attested as well by the grey in his hair—but were it not for that they may have been brothers.

“How is your wife?” inquired the younger of the two. “And your, er”—the hesitation was brief, barely noticeable—“your daughter?” He regarded his companion intently. “I trust she is eager to see this negotiation concluded?” 

“Ah,” replied the elder man, his smile faltering only slightly. “She is indeed, as is her mother. They are in the princess’s chambers even now, preparing.” 

* * *

“ _No_ ,” Emma hissed, wrenching herself free from her mother’s grip and ripping the delicate pale-pink dress from her hands. “I will not participate in this farce and you _can_ not make me!” She flung the dress to the floor and barely restrained herself from jumping up and down upon it like a child. 

“I am your mother,” Snow replied coolly, “and your queen, and so by the power of two separate authorities I can, in fact, make you.” 

Emma’s fists clenched and her nostrils flared. “You’ll have to drug me then,” she snarled, “or tie me up or compel me with magic because there is no way in _any_ of the seven hells that I will accept this willingly.” 

Snow folded her arms across her chest. “We’ll see about that.” 

* * *

“And your brother?” asked the elder man. “Is he is as keen to be wed as my daughter?” 

“Oh, indeed he is,” said the younger man with a bright smile that hardly appeared false at all. “Rarely has he anticipated anything more eagerly.” 

* * *

In a single, slick move Killian snatched the dagger from Smee’s belt, spun around and pressed its tip beneath the chin of his erstwhile companion and friend. “How dare you, Smee?” he demanded in a silky hiss. “You know how I feel about this farce of an arrangement. You are the _only_ one who knew, the only one I told of where I meant to go. You betrayed me, and I will see that you suffer for it!” 

“Killian!” Both he and Smee turned to see Nemo in the doorway, scowling at the scene before him. “No murder on your wedding day,” he admonished. “And you might also want to consider wearing pants.” Nemo raised an eyebrow as he surveyed the prince’s naked form. “Best not to put the cart before the horse, as it were, and I imagine the chapel gets rather chilly at this time of year.”

* * *

“Excellent, excellent.” The elder man clapped his hands together. “So when can we, er, expect the prince to arrive?” 

“I’m sure he’ll be here any moment,” replied the younger as his eyes darted to the southern doors. “And the princess?” 

“Oh yes.” The elder man’s eyes returned to his companion after glancing, ever so briefly, at the eastern doors. “Any moment.” 

* * *

“Mother, please,” Emma begged. Defiance was getting her nowhere, it was time to employ pathos. She folded her hands together and looked imploringly at Snow. “Would you truly force me into marriage? With a man I’ve never met? Some useless, limp-dicked—” 

“ _Em_ ma!” 

“—lump of a prince who will hate that I can best him at swordplay and that I ride astride—” _pathos, Emma, pathos!_ “—and who doesn’t love me!” She widened her eyes and allowed them to fill with tears. “You always said I could marry the man I loved, Mama. You _promised_.” 

* * *

They exchanged wide and confident smiles and held eye contact perhaps a heartbeat too long before looking away to focus on their respective doorways. 

* * *

“Nemo, I’m surprised at you.” Killian resisted the urge to cover himself and instead puffed out his chest. “Smee has always been a snivelling rat of a man, but I never would have imagined _you_ might turn on me like this.” 

Nemo fixed him with a deadly _I’m-not-mad-just-disappointed_ look. “It’s not turning on you to want to see you married, lad.” 

“ _Happily_ married, perhaps,” retorted Killian. “Otherwise it’s just shackles by another name. You really want to see me chained for life to some faint-hearted, twee little princess, who will while away her time in needlework and—and flower arranging, and never utter a word worth hearing in all her days?” 

“Rather harsh, Killian, when you’ve not even met the girl.” 

“I’ve met more than enough of her type,” Killian sneered. “And I’m not having it. I’m not marrying someone I don’t love.” 

* * *

Doorways that remained resolutely shut, obliging the men to meet each other’s eyes again. They exchanged another set of smiles, the elder drumming his fingers on the sleeve of his doublet while the younger tapped a rhythmless beat with his toe on the floor.

Minutes passed, marked by the resonant tick of the grandfather clock set back against the wall. 

The elder man cleared his throat. “Lovely weather we’ve been having,” he remarked. 

“Oh yes,” the younger agreed, relieved to have the silence broken. “So sunny.” 

* * *

“Emma, of course I want to see you wed to someone who loves you!” Snow exclaimed. “And whom you love in return.” She approached her daughter and gently brushed a lock of hair back from her face. “But sweetie, we have introduced you to every eligible man within a hundred miles and you’ve shown no inclination for any of them. And we need this alliance with Windhaven, as you well know.”

Emma huffed and pulled away, turning her back and closing her eyes, wishing she could close her ears as well. Blue eyes gazed at her from behind her eyelids, warm and admiring, and a cocky grin flashed. 

“But that doesn’t mean you won’t find love!” persisted Snow. “I have heard nothing but exemplary reports about Prince Killian. He is said to be intelligent and good humoured. And handsome.” 

“Pah,” scoffed Emma. _Blue eyes, roguish smile. Hair that fell across his forehead just so…_

“Perhaps, in time, love between you two may grow.” 

Emma shook her head, willing the memories away. “It won’t.” 

“But how can you know, my darling, unless you try?”

* * *

“Bright sunshine,” expounded the elder man. “Good for, er, the flowers!” 

* * *

“Killian, love is not always some grand, romantic adventure.” Nemo plucked the silk dressing gown from Smee’s grasp and handed it to Killian, who grudgingly slipped it on, then placed his hand on the younger man’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Sometimes it’s a slow, sweet thing that grows between life companions. Princess Emma is said to be beautiful and kind, and sharp-witted enough to challenge even you. Surely you could at least give her a chance?” 

Killian swallowed hard and shook his head. Bright laughter rang through his memory and his hand flexed in response, closing on empty air and not the soft gold hair it longed to touch again. “I couldn’t,” he croaked. “It wouldn’t be fair.” To her. Or to _her_. 

Nemo’s expression hardened. “Well life, as the philosophers say, is rarely fair. You’ll just have to learn to deal with that. And to trust that your brother and I know rather more than you do both of fairness and of love.”

* * *

“Oh yes, flowers love the sunshine.” The younger man groped about for something more to say, anything he could think of with a horticultural gist. “They love the rain, too, I’m told. Both are good for, er, growing things.” 

* * *

“How do I know I can’t love him?” Emma choked, turning round again. The tears in her eyes were real now, and threatening to fall. “Because I’ve already met the only man I could possibly love!” 

_“They call me Hook,” he said, with far too confident a smirk for a man with a dagger at his throat._

_“Oh?” she inquired sweetly. “And why do they call you that?”_

_“I don’t know, lass. Perhaps because I can do_ this _.”_

“What?” gasped Snow. “Who?” 

“Oh, don’t _look_ at me like that!” Emma dashed the tears from her eyes and stomped to her window, glaring out at the thick forest below. “He’s no one _you_ would consider suitable! He’s a bandit I met in the forest.”

_In a flash of movement he spun on his heel, hooking his leg around hers as he did and knocking her off-balance. The dagger fell from her grasp as she stumbled and he snatched it from the air, spinning it round to hold it against her throat as his arm caught her firmly round her waist and his eyes met hers._

“One of that group of men you were travelling with?” cried Snow. 

“Yes.” 

“But you were only with them a few weeks!” 

“It was long enough. Longer than you knew Father before you were wed.” 

“That was diff—” 

“ _Don’t_ tell me it was different!” Emma snapped. “I _know_ it was different! But it hardly matters now.” She braced her hands against the windowsill as memories of Hook’s touch ghosted across her skin. “When the palace guards found me they captured him as well and—” her voice broke “—he’s in the dungeons even as we speak, even as you’re forcing me marry someone else when _all_ I want to do is run to _him_!” 

“Emma, he’s not in the dungeons,” said Snow carefully, coming up behind her daughter to place a hand upon her arm. “All the men who were with you when you were discovered—they all escaped.” 

* * *

“Very true,” agreed the elder man, solemnly. “Very true. Sunshine and rain both is what you need.”

The clock ticked. 

“Do you get rain?” asked the elder man. “In, er, Windhaven?” 

“Erm. We do, yes,” the younger man replied. “Some.” 

* * *

“You think because you’re older, because Liam is older, that you know more of love than I?” Killian scoffed. “When have you been in love? When has he?” 

“When have you?” retorted Nemo. 

_Her eyes were moss green, sharp and defiant. She glared at him, unflinching, and he found he could not look away._

_“What’s your name, lass?” he murmured._

_For the space of a heartbeat he thought she wouldn’t reply, but then she breathed, “Swan. You can call me Swan.”_

“Now,” snapped Killian. “ _Right_ now, at this very moment, I am in love with the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever known. No princess could hold a bloody candle to her, and—make no mistake on this point, Nemo—I will marry no one else.” 

“Indeed? And where did you meet this paragon of femininity, if I may inquire?”

“She was among the men I joined up with in the forest.” 

* * *

“Ah!” cried the elder man, his smile widening as the eastern doors swung open. “Here she—oh.” His face fell when a page entered the room, an embarrassed flush in his cheeks. He passed a scroll to the elder man just as, from the southern entrance, another page appeared to hand one to the younger man as well. 

* * *

Emma spun round to face her mother, eyes glistening with tears but wide with hope. “He’s free?” she whispered. “He got away!” 

“Is this why you’ve been trying to sneak into the dungeons?” asked Snow, with a hint of reluctant amusement in her voice. “Lancelot’s had to triple the guard down there.”

Emma tossed her head but not before her mother caught the pleased hint of a smile. “I told you,” she said. “The man I love. The only one I’ll marry.” 

_They met in secret, or tried to—Emma was certain Robin at least must know about their trysts. Mulan surely did, but despite her friend’s frowning stares and thinly-veiled remarks about the foolishness of forming attachments that went beyond those of warm companionship, Emma could not help herself. Hook’s touch lit a fire in her and she craved the flames; every moment she wasn’t with him felt wasted. He seemed to feel the same for he was always snatching her away to steal a kiss behind a tree, always angling to sit beside her around the fire so their fingers might brush, innocently of course, as they passed around the wineskin._

Snow’s eyes were full of sympathy. “I’m sorry, Emma, truly,” she said. “If we had known earlier, then perhaps… but your father has already made the arrangements with Windhaven—” 

“He can _un_ -make them then!” 

“—to break his promise now would be an act of war.” 

“Arghhh!” Emma shrieked. “Men and their _wars!_ ” 

_Fair_ , thought Snow. Aloud she said, “At least your love is free. Take what comfort you can from that.” Cold comfort she knew, but her hands, at present, were tied. 

Emma sniffed, then nodded. “He’s free,” she repeated. “That does actually help. I—I suppose I always knew there was no hope of a future for us.” 

* * *

The elder man read his missive with a scowl then looked up to find the younger one still reading his, with a similar expression. Each made an effort to smooth the temper from his features, but the elder man’s voice still held an edge when he remarked “It seems she’ll be another few minutes.” 

“He as well,” replied the younger man. 

A beat of uncomfortable silence passed, marked by three ticks of the clock, then the younger man remarked, “We do get rain in Windhaven but of course the most common weather feature is the, well, the wind.” 

“Of course,” said the elder man. 

* * *

“She was living among a band of brigands in the forest?” said Nemo. “A _woman_?” 

“She wasn’t the only one,” protested Killian, thinking of Mulan. There had been something different about Swan, though—for all her courage and daring and skill with a sword, there had been hints that she was unaccustomed to such a rough and ready lifestyle. 

_“What are_ those _?” she demanded, wrinkling her nose. Killian laughed, wishing he could kiss it. Her nose was adorable when she laughed, even more so when she scowled._

_“Squirrels,” replied Robin, as though it were obvious. “Their meat is tough but flavoursome. We’ll stew them for a few hours and they’ll be grand. But first”—he held out the squirrels, dangling by their tails—“someone needs to skin and gut them.”_

_“Skin and—” Swan gulped, her skin gone faintly green. Killian gave her arm a pat, though he’d far rather hug her._

_“Come along, Swan, we’ll do it together,” he said. He’d been on enough camping trips with Liam to know how to prepare a squirrel. She flashed him a grateful smile, missing the knowing smirk on Robin’s face. Killian returned a scowl._

_“Just remember they need to stew for_ several hours _,” Robin said. “And we will be wanting to eat sometime tonight.”_

“Nevertheless,” said Nemo, “not exactly a suitable wife for a prince. You have your duty as the heir to consider.” 

“If Liam would do _his_ bloody duty I wouldn’t _be_ the heir,” grumbled Killian. “If he likes this princess so much he should marry her.” 

“The king is in negotiations with the Queen of Arendelle, as you know perfectly well,” replied Nemo mildly. “A union between them would secure the border between our countries for the first time in two centuries. _That_ is his duty, and his priority. What is yours?” 

* * *

“Likewise, I would assume,” said the younger man, “that in Misthaven you get quite a lot of, ah, mist?” 

“We do,” agreed the elder man. “From the mountains and from the sea.” 

“A double misting, you might say,” blurted the younger man, who then caught himself in horror. “That is, I meant—” 

The elder man held tight to his composure. “It is quite a lot of mist,” he remarked gruffly. 

The younger man released a slow breath. “It is at that,” he replied. 

* * *

“Will you come, then, and meet Prince Killian?” asked Snow. “I promise you that if you truly cannot see a chance at happiness with him then I will find a way to have the marriage annulled. But _you_ must promise to give him a genuine chance, Emma.” 

Emma took her mother’s hands and looked in her eyes. “You swear to me that if I truly do not wish to stay married to him I won’t have to?” 

“If you swear to me that you will genuinely try.” 

_It wasn’t long before they abandoned the pretence. It was too difficult to maintain amongst such a small group, and the pleasure of being able to touch each other openly, sit snuggled up before the fire and curl together as they slept—this was far greater than the thrill of secrecy. Each night they would bed down as far from the others as they dared and spend long hours exchanging confidences and gentle touches, long, lingering kisses that set the fire raging within Emma and left Hook panting, forehead pressed to hers and eyes squeezed shut as he struggled to contain himself._

_She didn’t want his restraint, all but begged him to abandon it, but he would not be moved._

_“Not on a forest floor,” he murmured, with a dozen men and bloody Mulan ten feet away. One day we will have a bed, love, a large, soft,_ private _one, and all the time in the world to enjoy it together.” His eyes were so soft, his smile tremulous, his chivalry so unexpected from a bandit such as he. “I promise you, my Swan.”_

_Her false name in his beloved voice made her heart ache, but she forced herself to return his smile. “Promise?”_

_“On my life,” he breathed, pulling her close. “On my life.”_

Emma squeezed her mother’s hands to quell the aching in her chest. Had he known then, as she had, how impossible that promise was? Even as he made it, had he known it could never be kept? 

Somehow she felt certain he had, and that the knowledge had broken his heart. 

She released Snow’s hands and pressed her own against her heart. “All right,” she said. “I swear it.” 

* * *

“Mist is, I imagine, also good for flowers?” the younger man ventured. “Rather like rain only less, er… rainy.” 

“I don’t believe I ever thought of it like that before,” the elder man remarked. “We do have a lot of flowers in Misthaven but it doesn’t necessarily follow that those two things are related.” 

“It might be an interesting field of, um, scientific inquiry,” said the younger man, looking as though he wished he could stop talking but wasn’t certain how to go about it. “For your… university? You have a university, I believe?” 

“We do,” confirmed the elder man. “I will be sure to inquire about the relationship between mist and flowers when next I meet with its Chancellor. Perhaps you would care to be informed of his conclusions?” 

“Oh, yes,” said the younger man weakly. “That would be fascinating.” 

“I’ll be sure to send his report on to you,” said the elder man. 

* * *

“Obviously,” Killian growled, “my priority is Windhaven. As it has to be.” 

“As it has to be,” Nemo agreed. 

“But I cannot—there is only so much I have to give, Nemo. My heart is taken; all I can offer a wife is my respect and my honour, and I cannot pretend to more than that.” 

“I greatly doubt any pretence will be necessary,” Nemo observed. “The princess is doing this for duty as well. But I’m confident that you, as many, many others before you, will manage to come to a satisfactory arrangement. You’re both reasonable people, on the whole.” 

_Killian held Swan as she slept, his own eyes heavy but unwilling to shut them and sleep away even a moment of his precious time with her. She was tucked against his chest, snoring gently, a bubble of drool just at the corner of her mouth._

_She was beautiful._

_He stroked her cheek with the tips of his fingers, tracing the outline of the bone then down her jaw and to the enchanting divot in her chin that he never passed up an opportunity to kiss. He kissed it now and she mumbled something in her sleep, shifting to press closer to him. He tightened his arms._

_“I love you,” he whispered._

_He hadn’t meant to say it, knew he shouldn’t say it, wasn’t_ free _to say it. He wasn’t free to feel it either, though, and yet he did. Oh, how he did._

_Her eyes blinked open and she smiled a sleepy smile. “I love you too,” she whispered._

_“Have you been—were you just pretending to be asleep!” he accused, teasing to conceal his aching joy at her confession._

_“Sometimes I pretend,” she said softly, “so that you’ll hold me the way you only do when you think I won’t remember it.”_

_He kissed her then, and held her so tightly he feared he might crush her but she merely squeezed him back, her kiss as desperate as his own. He wished he’d never have to let her go._

_But he knew, even then, that he did._

“And what if we can’t?” 

“Can’t what?” Nemo frowned. 

“Come to a satisfactory arrangement. What if after a certain time has passed we find that we despise each other and a life spent together could only bring misery to us both? What then?” 

Nemo sighed. “In that, I must say _highly_ _unlikely_ event, the king and I would find a way to annul the marriage and cancel the contract.” 

Killian looked at him sharply. “You would?” 

“If you were truly miserable then yes, of course we would.” Nemo’s expression softened, into a fondness he rarely allowed himself to show. “Above all else, we love you.” 

Killian drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “Very well then,” he said. “Let’s go meet this princess.” 

* * *

The eastern doors opened again and both men’s heads swivelled hopefully to face it. Two pairs of broad shoulders slumped in relief and two grateful sighs were exhaled as Princess Emma came through them on her mother’s arm, trailed closely by the sturdy and inescapable figure of Lancelot. The princess took her place behind her father, head held high, though no one observing her could fail to notice her red-rimmed eyes, or the white-knuckled grip of the queen’s hand on her arm. 

Moments later the southern doors swung open to admit Prince Killian, flanked by his brother’s most trusted adviser Captain Nemo and the royal valet William Smee. He stalked into the chamber with no expression on his face but eyes that flashed with frustrated anger—that is until they fell upon the princess. 

Killian froze, and Nemo and Smee stumbled as he came to a dead halt several steps away from where he was meant to go. All eyes in the room turned to him with varying expressions of surprise and annoyance—including Emma’s. Hers blinked and then widened and her lips fell open in a tiny gasp. Blue clashed with green and a silent conversation was held, communicating more in that split second than the two men had in their twenty minutes of stilted discourse.

The clock ticked once, then Killian squared his shoulders and began to walk again, as though he’d never stopped. He took his place behind his brother with eyes still flashing, though with a rather different emotion now. As she observed him, the corners of Emma’s lips twitched. 

No one noticed. 

_The raid came so quickly even the Merry Men were taken by surprise. One moment they were asleep and the next the Royal Guard were there, dragging them from their bedrolls and disarming them before they had even come fully awake. Rough hands tore a shrieking Swan from Killian’s arms and two more held him fast; though he fought with all his might he could not break free of their grasp. Frantically he kicked at the legs of the man who held him, a stout brute of a fellow who refused to topple but finally loosed his grip enough for Killian to wrench himself free and dart away. The camp was in chaos and he spun round madly in search of Swan, calling for her, and then he heard a sound that turned his blood to ice._

_Swan’s voice, crying his name._

_“Hook!” she screamed and he followed the sound to see her fighting like a hellcat against the clutches of a man with night-dark skin and muscles that themselves had muscles. Desperate fear gripped him and he fought like a feral thing, charging blindly through the melee in pursuit of her._

_“Swan!” he bellowed, but he was too late. The man swung onto a horse with her flung over his shoulder and galloped off, leaving Killian in despair and too distraught to notice as another group of men descended and different hands grabbed hold of him and he was bundled away—too distraught to even feel surprise when he found himself in Windhaven’s royal carriage with Nemo there to greet him wearing a stern frown that masked, for the first time in Killian’s memory, reluctant admiration._

* * *

“All right, let’s get this o—er, let us conclude the negotiations,” said the elder man. “Now that we are all, finally, present.” He cast his gaze about the room, making eye contact with all those present, then nodded at the court scribe. 

“We are met here today to conclude negotiations and solemnise the contract of marriage between Princess Emma of Misthaven and Prince Killian of Windhaven,” the scribe intoned, indicating the scroll that lay unrolled upon the council table. “Terms of said contract have been agreed by Their Majesties King David of Misthaven and King Liam of Windhaven.” 

The elder and younger man acknowledged one another with a nod. 

“Said contract has been read,” the scribe continued, “and the terms agreed by both relevant parties and given that there are no objections—” 

“Wait!” interrupted a voice. “I have an objection.” 

All eyes turned to Princess Emma—including Prince Killian’s, his wide with surprise. 

“ _Emma_ ,” muttered Snow under her breath. 

“I would like the contract to be amended,” declared Emma, ignoring her mother, “to prohibit Prince Killian from eating hedge-onions with every meal.”

“ _Hedge_ -onions?” her father choked. 

Emma batted her eyelashes. “I could not dream of entering into a marriage with a man who insisted on constantly eating hedge-onions.” 

Prince Killian blinked, then his lip twitched as he replied. “Hedge-onions are very healthful, as everyone knows.” 

“They smell hideous.” 

“The smell is easily neutralised by chewing parsley.” 

“Hmph,” said Emma, tossing her hair. “That’s what someone who eats hedge-onions _would_ think.” 

The rapt attention of the room focused again on Killian. The moment stretched ( _tick, tick_ ) and then he gave a nod. “Very well,” he conceded. “No hedge-onions.” 

“Erm, good,” said King David, as the scribe hastily amended the contract. “Now, if we might—” 

“Provided, that is, that Princess Emma agrees that should her feet ever become cold in the night she will put on a pair of bloody socks or warm them by the fire, and not on another person’s bare skin.” 

“ _What_?” bellowed David as Liam shot his brother a dagger glare. 

“What?” echoed Killian, blinking innocently. “I’m sensitive to cold, you see, and I don’t think I could stand to be married to someone who insisted on using me as her own personal stove.” 

Princess Emma muttered something under her breath. It was hard to make out the words, but they sounded very much like _sensitive to cold, my ass_. 

Aloud she said, “Fine. I’ll wear socks. To bed, because that’s _so_ sex—” 

“Em _ma!_ ” Snow hissed, and across the room Killian’s eyes danced with mirth. 

“ _If_ there are no further objections,” huffed David, as the scribe frantically attempted to translate ‘no cold feet in bed’ into proper royal legalese, “perhaps we might sign this damn—er this contract.” 

“No objections,” said Killian. 

“No objections,” echoed Emma. 

David gave them each a stern look then accepted a pen from the scribe and signed his name at the bottom of the contract with a flourish. The scribe passed the pen to Liam, who then did the same. 

“The contract of marriage is now official,” intoned the scribe, “and the nuptials may proceed as planned. I believe the wedding is to be held in the palace chapel in, er, ten minutes’ time.” 

“That’s correct,” David confirmed, but before he could suggest they all adjourn thereto and take their places, Killian’s voice piped up again. 

“There’s just one thing I’d like to do before the wedding, if I may,” he said. David turned and regarded his future son-in-law with trepidation. He dearly hoped there would be no more talk of nighttime activities or bare skin. 

“What is it?” he asked warily. 

“Only this.” 

Killian shrugged Nemo’s hand from where it rested on his shoulder and strode across the room. Emma pulled free from her mother’s grip and darted forward to meet him halfway. They near-collided in a tangle of limbs as he caught her up tight in his arms and she clutched at the lapels of his coat to pull his lips to hers. 

Varying degrees of concern, confusion, alarm and amusement played across the faces of those who observed as the affianced couple shared a fiery kiss that lasted for many, many ticks of the grandfather clock. When at last they broke apart it was only to rest their foreheads together and exchange wide and glorious smiles. 

“Hook,” Emma breathed. 

Killian brushed her nose with his. “Swan.” 

“How could it be you?” she demanded. 

“How could it be _you_?” he countered. 

“I don’t know,” she laughed. “I don’t care. Let’s get married. Now, before they change their minds.” 

The elder man and the younger exchanged identical pained expressions. 

“Aye, lass,” murmured Killian in his bride’s ear. “Good call.” 

“Mmm,” replied Emma. “And then once that is done, I do believe _someone_ owes me all the time in the world with him and a large, soft, _private_ bed.” 

Killian laughed and kissed her again, then offered her his arm. “Lead the way, my love,” he said. 

—


End file.
